Sunday, July 31, 2016

I ordered a 7 year old Flor De Cana neat. “Actually,
make it a double”. I know how to trim my own sails. In 10 minutes it’s gone and
in 15 minutes I know everyone in the bar. There are 3 of us, and that’s
counting the bartender. It’s midday and I just escaped my own murder. Here’s
the story:

I used a “Tramitador”, who is a local that knows the
procedure of crossing the border from Honduras to Nicaragua. I paid him ten
bucks and he eased me through the bureaucracy. When we were cleared through, he
asked for a ride to the end of the border zone and since I had just spent 2
hours with him I was happy to help. We had a pleasant ride and when he hopped
out a young man standing right in that spot immediately asked for a lift to the
next town. Ordinarily I would have declined but my door was already open, the
truck was in park, I’d just had a good experience and he caught me off guard.

As soon as he climbed in and I saw how dirty he was I knew I had made a
mistake. It went downhill from there
quickly. I tried to make small talk in Spanish and he responded in curt
English.

After a long silence he asked me if his ear disturbed
me. I looked at the side of his head to see that his ear had been cut off. “I
didn’t even notice”.

More silence. “My dad was a mean drunk but good with a
knife.”

When you have a camper on the back of a pickup truck
that rearview mirror that lives in the middle of your windshield is only there
so you can catch a glimpse of yourself, stare into your own eyes while
thinking, “You can do this. Don’t shut down. Make him see you as a human.”

I came back with a smile and started talking about my
trip so far, my mom and brother whom I love, all the wonderful things I’ve
seen, how kind everyone has been to me and then I asked him why he wanted to go
to Managua, the capital of Nicaragua.

“For work. I have nothing. I need a job.”

I came up with a plan. “Miguel, you aren’t going to get
a job in those clothes. I have some clean clothes for you in the back. I’m
going to give them to you. When we stop in a little bit for food, I’ll fill
your stomach and get you dressed for success and listen, I can even give you
some money so you can take the bus and won’t have to hitchhike. I believe
things are going to get better for you. I’ll help you.”

His attitude improved. He was more talkative and he told
me about his gang life in San Pedro Sula, the notoriously dangerous capital of
Honduras. He talked about killing people but then amended his proclamation to
clarify that those killings were when he was in the military. I wasn’t aware
that Honduras had sent troops anywhere but I left it alone.

I remember thinking, “I have 62 km to the next town.
Keep the speed up and stop at nothing until we are in a public place.”

Of all places, when we entered the city of Esteli I saw
a Pizza Hut and pulled right in. I had my door open before I even put it in
park. “Come on man, I’ll buy. Let’s eat all the pizza we can!” While he was
gorging himself I excused myself for the bathroom. I went out to the camper and
grabbed him a clean shirt and a pair of jeans. I gave them to him at the table
with the change from the meal – easily enough for him to get a bus to Managua.
I tried to say goodbye at the restaurant but he followed me to the truck and
asked for a ride to the edge of town so he could start hitchhiking again.

“Miguel, that’s why I gave you the money, so you could
take the bus.”

“I’m gonna keep that money for later.”

“I’m sorry, I bought you food, gave you clothes and
cash, and I gotta be honest, I’m not comfortable getting back in the truck with
you. I’m going to leave by myself now.”

He was silent. We were standing in front of Pizza Hut
with a big glass picture window with plenty of diners just a meter away. I felt
comfortable enough to ask the following: “Miguel, when you got in the truck
this morning, did you mean to do me harm?”

“The worst kind.”

Night
and Day

There is a huge geographical difference between
Nicaragua and Honduras. Honduras was the Switzerland of Central America with its
lush green pastures saddled between mountains crowned with cool moist air while
Nicaruagua is flat, dead, brown, dry & ugly.

I went from the prettiest
country to the ugliest country in Central America. The beaches were the saving
grace, and I put Maderas at the top

Good waves at Madreas

(but I’m getting ahead of myself) No more
Mayans of ancient splendor – I entered with a bad taste and it grew even more
sour. Then I met the police.

My
First Sustained Corruption

These cops are shameless.
They pull you over and steal your lunch money. It’s like being the last guy in
the locker room at Central High all over again. The secret to dealing with these
corrupt cops actually proved to me that my Spanish has really improved. I had
to consciously dumb down my vocabulary and purposely conjugate my verbs
incorrectly. The less I speak & comprehend, the sooner they get frustrated
and wave me on.

Granada

Catnip

If the cops are this corrupt I began to think I really
needed to be on my toes with the more pedestrian version of thieves. Shiny and
new is like catnip to those who want your stuff, that’s why I never wash Elsie.
I want her to look beat and broke from the exterior. Shiny and new is all
relative: Someone tried to pop the lock on the cab of the truck and rip me off
while I was sleeping. They screwed the door up for a day but they got nothing.
My good friend and personal mechanic fixed the damage. Ladies and gentlemen:
Mark Sessions

2
Weeks With A Childhood Friend

Mark is actually the friend who found and purchased the
camper and truck that would become Elsie. “You don’t have to buy it, but if you
want it, you can have it at cost. I think you should fly over here and check it
out.” I did, and I did. Then he put his boys to work adapting her to her
upcoming travails. She’s done well because they did a fine job.

That's how a cashew nut grows

We drove around Nicaragua and had one touristy good time
after another. Mark has only traveled to Mexico and he was really shocked by
how many people he met from all over the world that were traveling Central
America. He made me laugh out loud a few times and I want to share the quotes
with you. It was so frequent and classic that I took to
recording him.

“You're Dutch? My wife
is a dental hygienist, and she went to.... Hey Bobby. Where'd she go again?
Yea, she went to the Dominican Republic.”

“How could you
understand that guy? I couldn't understand that guy at all. Is he from France?”

“Mark, he's from
Manchester.”

“That sounds French.”

“That's in England.”

“No we don't eat lamb.
That's for foreigners. Hey Bobby how do you say "fatty" in Swiss?”

To a Dutch girl: “Do you
call your parents every day? Cuz I have a 21 year old daughter. How old are
you? Bobby, how old do you think she is? Ask her how old she is. See, parents
worry.”

“But this metal is
springy. See, springy. Look, see how it bounces? It's springy. Bobby, how do
you say “springy” or maybe “bouncy”?”

San Juan Del Sur. We hired a man to guard the camper during Semana Santa

Semana
Santa

Everything sucks during Semana Santa. Just don’t be in a
Latin country during Semana Santa. What’s Semana Santa? No way am I gonna
relive that. You look it up.

Find what you love and let it kill you

I’m
not trying to be morbid here, but we all expire. I wouldn’t post this but my
mom is actually going to be here in a couple days and I can sooth the upset
that this will bring.

Death
while adventuring: Worth it. So worth it. The pain doesn’t last that long. Even
when it’s a bad death, in the big scope, it wasn’t that long or that much
suffering. And the memories I’ve savored since I began all those years ago
wouldn’t have been with me if I didn’t take chances. So I take chances and I eventually
will get caught. Hey, on a long enough timeline – everything ends in disaster,
and it was completely worth it. Please remember this if you ever find yourself standing
in front of my closed casket.

No
I don’t have a death wish. I’ve never had a suicidal tendency in my life. For
this dispatch - I started on a scary note and I’m going out on one. But, I promise
on the next dispatch to also write whatever I want….;-)

Sunday, July 10, 2016

Through
the fog of evaporating sleep the scream of the rooster sounds like a woman
discovering a body. As I enter consciousness it slowly comes to me that I’m in
a camper in the jungles of Honduras.

Out in the wild, not in a park

I step outside to give my “maquina de libertad”
a walk around. The cabover jutting forward makes Elsie look like a female Elvis
impersonator in full pompadour glory. This is such a wonderfully weird life.

That's an unearthed Mayan pyramid in the background

Goodbye
El Salvador

My last night in El Salvador was spent parked on the
main street of Suchitoto. I loved that town ten years ago. This time around it
bored me. What does that mean? Am I becoming a little jaded around the edges
perhaps?

The next morning I began the extremely long journey to
Copan, Honduras. The slalom course that is the Honduran highway in my seven ton
sled took weeks off my life in mere hours. Dodge a manhole here, straddle a
sinkhole there, scream aloud when an under horse powered car tries to pass me
on a curve. I literally earned a blister on my finger from death gripping that
wheel for 8 hours. Shoehorn a 3 hour inefficient border crossing into the
center of the timeline and that forced me to spend the last 1.5 hours driving
on truly dangerous roads in the blackest of inkwell nights. I swore I’d never
drive at night. Either they don’t have street lights or someone stole the
bulbs. I coached myself aloud as the behemoth semis avalanched past me.

But I made it, and I loved Copan.

It’s no Tikal, but
it’s good, and the little town that has grown up around it is a pleasant place
to frit away a week of your life.

First
Impressions of Honduras

This is the 61st country I’ve visited. I was
warned it was the most dangerous country in all of Central America and you’d
have to be nuts to go there. My camper is a research vessel. I conduct my own
studies, thank you very much. I never had an issue and I spent a month in
Honduras. The explanation I got while in country is that the danger exists for
the locals, and that the organized crime element has a strict “hands off policy”
regarding the tourists. They bring in lots of money and everyone has at least
one family member who works in the tourist industry. They don’t want the bottom
to fall out and one murdered tourist will do that in a single headline. Now,
that doesn’t mean some desperado won’t cut your neck for your phone but it
didn’t happen.

Como?

The worst Spanish in Central America is in Honduras.
Mush mouth slang makes it very hard to comprehend. I’ve never returned so many
blank stares. I didn’t see one Spanish language school and that’s a first. I
like Hondurans and I can vouch for them unequivocally, but make sure your
Spanish teacher hails from a different nation.

Honduras
at 30MPH

In the other countries I was disappointed because I had
to drive so slowly. Not Honduras. This country is over the top gorgeous. It’s the
Switzerland of Central America. I slowed down to enjoy it. Western Honduras had
terrible roads – I averaged about 15 mph. The eastern side was pretty good – 35
mph.

Nothing about Driving Elsie (good band name?) on these
roads is relaxing. She’s enormous, so when I’m in these old Spanish colonial
towns she doesn’t really fit on the tiny ox-cart streets. On the highways their
low level of engineering is suspect – I just end up bouncing and then I have to
greatly reduce speed because I’m so high and heavy and these roads aren’t even
close to flat. A couple drawers have broken free of their
runners, my 2 doors are no longer square and don’t close correctly, I sometimes
have to prime the water pump after a particularly rough pounding, a shelf has
broken twice, only half of the lights are functioning, and the microwave is
dead. You can’t jar this camper for 12,000 miles on these terrible roads
without realizing breakage. It’s all part of the deal. I’m a mobile repair unit
servicing one client only.

Goin to the brink, Of oblivion, Gonna need a shrink, To get
back again - - The Cramps

The Central Americans often endanger
their own lives and in so doing, mine as well. When they pass me going into a
curve and they are directly alongside, where do you think they are going to go
when a vehicle comes around the bend in their lane? They are going to run me
off the road without thinking twice. Because I get tired of yelling at the top
of my lungs as I sit alone in the cab how stupid they are once per mile, I’m
just going to decide that they simply have a “lower level of safety
consciousness”.

Stupid is so much shorter and easier, but I’ll spend the extra
syllables since I really do like these suicidal bastards. They aren’t stupid,
they just haven’t evolved their level of safety consciousness to the same level
as first worlders. There is no doubt that we have a heightened sense of
cautiousness in the first world. Maybe good, maybe bad. I’ve passed on a curve
exactly once, and in mid pass my self-preservation gene kicked in and I
realized that it was stupid and unsafe for everyone on the road, and when it
was over I remember thinking “I could have been killed, I’m not gonna ever do
that again!” I guess they never say the following words, “My life is pretty
sweet, why would I risk passing on a curve?” Defensive driving in Spanishland
is constant. I have to assume that danger is about to fly at me around every
turn. I always thought I’d die at sea but these drivers have given me reason to
rethink that.

Overlander of yesteryear

Today's detour brought to you by the collapsing bridges of Honduras

The
Police Woman

I parked for one night in Esperanza. There is no reason
to ever go there. The prison dominates everything and they give the citizens of
the town free wifi since all cell phones are blocked to prevent the inmates
from calling out (does that make any sense when nearly every phone has wifi
capabilities?) I was in the town plaza catching up on my internet stuff when I
was approached by a police woman in uniform. It was a pleasant meeting and it
seemed she only wanted to practice her English. Then she asked me to accompany
her back to her hovel. I want to see how the locals live and I couldn’t be
rude. She took off her hat, unbuckled her belt and let that gut fall out, then
she reclined on what I’m sure was a stolen prison mattress and propositioned
me. Repeatedly. God am I glad I’m not a pretty girl. Those were horribly
awkward moments. I barely got out of there with my Honduran virginity intact. Exquisitely
unattractive and obviously insane, I hid in the camper and hoped the knock
would never come. I was out of there at first light.

There
is a Brewery

Lago Yojoa is barely worth visiting. There is a brewery
that is located near there. It’s the perfect example of creating a tourist
destination location. It has only 2 draws: the other white people who are on
the backpack trail, and something other than thin tasteless beer. You’ll speak
English with tourists from all over the world, and can collectively convince
yourselves that you are really doing something extreme. This is where I lose
readers, friends and open myself up to ridicule from the few among you who are
real adventurers.

Up in the mountains above La Ceiba

Here's the hierarchy bottom to top: 4.) Those without passports, 3.) Weekers (my
code word for “tourists”), 2.) Travelers, & 1.) Adventurers. I don’t even strive
for the top slot. In fact, I often fall short of being a traveler. I like
sleeping in Elsie with my faithful pillow, screen doors, constant fans and
inconsistent aircon. There are those
that are absolutely sure they are well traveled, and they have spent lots of
money on international flights, and they do rank above those who don’t own
passports but they are still weekers: They fly into a place for 2 – 4 weeks,
“Do the country” and fly back knowing that they are now authorities on all
things Central American. This is most of you. Then there’s Nick. www.theamazonadventure.com. I first learned about this guy from
my buddy Todd who told me he was pedaling a bike all the way to South America.
He rode thru the Darien Gap! And what about these people who are walking? I
don’t qualify as an adventurer, not on this scale.

Here’s my challenge to you who do own passports: Stay longer, go deeper,
learn the language, avoid other white people, and try to go a couple days
without using the words, “Awesome” or “Amazing”. You’re better than that.

Utila

I parked Elsie up in the mountains and paid for a safe
spot so I could abandon her for scuba diving on an offshore island. My dive
buddy was a regal looking gentleman from Nashville named Howard Rosenblum.

Photo by Howard Rosenblum

Photo by Howard Rosenblum

I’m a
big fan. First, his photos are gorgeous and he allowed me to share them with
you. But more importantly, I credit him with keeping scuba diving in my bag of
tricks.

After that horrendous experience in a cave in the
Yucatan of Mexico this would be my first dive. The boat dropped the hook; we
geared & buddied up and splashed into the water. I gave the “all clear
sign” but my pulse was a little quick. I opened the valve on my BCD, dumped my
air and let the weights on my hips do their trick. About 15 feet down the panic
gripped me. “Out! I want out!”

Photo by Howard Rosenblum

I surfaced, everyone else surfaced, I sheepishly
explained that I’d had a bad experience, I thought I was over it, but
apparently I’m not. I swam back to the boat in total defeat.

They completed their dive and when they returned
everyone treated me like the kid in the wheelchair. Except Howard. I don’t know
him well, but I’m guessing his kids think he’s the greatest. He was patient,
sympathetic, and a good listener. After our surface interval, I made the second
dive, and then 2 more the next day. And there was Howard, looking after me the
whole way. I’m back, but that cave really spooked me.

Pulhanpanzak

Fire hose to the eyes.

Lost Civilizations – Goodbye To The Mayans

The Mayans didn’t expand their
colossal empire south of Honduras. How I have loved exploring their ruins, but
that’s over, and I suppose I will look forward to the Incas. Here’s one thing I
learned and I think it’s telling: They
hit their peak of population around 900 AD and disappeared shortly after. Did
you catch that? They peaked and then their civilization hit a near total
collapse very soon thereafter. Civilizations lament their recessions, but maybe
what we should really fear is the apex. These are happy times folks.

I
can look anyone dead in the eye, and all dogs like me. That must count on some
level for living honestly.

Your
man on point,

It takes only 17 pounds of pressure to take off a finger. These things deliver 800

The Dream

In the 90’s I spent a year backpacking in Europe. That experience was the single most defining event in my life. Then I spent the next 15 years designing my future, so that I could repeat that sojourn on a global level with all my toys included. I created a mantra that I chanted on a daily basis. 4 maxims to live by:1.) Don’t Get Married2.) Don’t Reproduce3.) Don’t Get Injured4.) Don’t Get In Trouble With The Law.

I navigated through those life altering reefs and dodged all those looming icebergs. I MADE IT! I resigned my position, rented my house, sold everything else, and left all that was familiar behind. It was Dec 1, 2005. I was a naïve American thrusting myself upon the world in a campaign of adventure. I had accepted the grandest challenge I could think of: SAILING AROUND THE WORLD. It took me 6 years and I made it half way around (San Diego to Singapore) and then my house burned down. I went back to California for 3 years to rebuild. And now? Now I'm driving an old truck with a camper to the farthest reaches of South America and back. These are my stories . . . .